The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (The Cynster Sisters Duo 2)

One who had attended the service, the interment, and the wake was Claude Potherby. In light of what Ryder knew of the man’s long-standing devotion to Lavinia, he had sent Potherby a personal note, inviting him to attend. Potherby had come but had remained at the wake only long enough to satisfy social expectations; his role as Lavinia’s confidant had been widely known.

Potherby had looked shattered; he’d aged ten years in less than a week. He’d seized a private moment to ask Ryder whether Lavinia had taken her own life. When Ryder had assured him that her death had been an accident, brought about by an attempt to flee justice, Potherby had nodded and quietly reflected, “She wouldn’t have chosen it, but this end . . . might well have been for the best.” After a moment, he’d added, “For her . . . and for me.” Glancing at Ryder, he’d somewhat ambiguously said, “It’s time I moved on.”

After tendering transparently sincere wishes for Ryder’s, Mary’s, and the Cavanaugh family’s future, Potherby had departed.

Thinking back to that conversation, Ryder had to agree with Potherby’s direction; it was, indeed, a day for counting blessings, and then moving on.

Apropos of which, looking over the sea of heads crowding the abbey’s drawing room, he felt as if he was, at last, setting out unencumbered on the path he’d promised his father he would take. For the Cavanaughs, his time would be one of rebuilding. And, glancing around, he no longer lacked for guidance in how best to accomplish all he wished.

Devil and Honoria, as well as Lord Arthur and Lady Louise, had come from London to represent the Cynsters. Mary had blinked at him when he’d asked if the rest of her immediate family would attend—as if the answer was so obvious the question hadn’t needed to be asked.

As, apparently, it hadn’t; all her closest family were there—from Simon and Portia, and Henrietta and James, to Amanda and Martin, and Amelia and Luc.

Somewhat to Ryder’s surprise, Helena, Dowager Duchess of St. Ives, the elder matriarch of the Cynster clan, and her bosom-bow, Therese, Lady Osbaldestone, had arrived with Devil and Honoria. Lady Osbaldestone had shrewdly looked him up and down, then told him being Mary’s husband suited him, and that he would do. Bad enough, but mere minutes later, Helena had patted his cheek, told him he was a good boy, and that all would be well—he would see.

His instincts had all but jibbered.

Later, when he’d mentioned the exchange to Mary, clearly seeking reassurance, she’d told him Helena was widely regarded as perspicacious in the highest degree, and that he should be grateful she hadn’t been more explicit.

Apparently, his instincts had been right.

Yet in terms of family, appreciating the strength and innate power the Cynsters possessed—what the result of successive generations who had stood together had generated—and knowing that the main line of the Cavanaughs had been reduced to him and his half siblings, the route to the future, the future he wanted to create, was clear.

The clocks throughout the house had just chimed three times when Mary swanned up, twined her arm with his, and turned him toward the door. “It’s time to go out to the porch and wave people off.”

Closing his hand over hers on his sleeve, he was only too happy to obey.

Naturally everyone followed their lead.

Despite the somber reason for the gathering, people departed with smiles and waves. Within half an hour, the bulk of the guests had left, and Ryder allowed Mary to lead him back inside to the library, where those staying overnight had retreated.

Mary paused in the front hall to confer with Forsythe and Mrs. Pritchard, who’d been waiting for her instructions. Footmen and maids were already in the drawing room, setting the big room to rights. After commending the staff on their performance, she confirmed the arrangements for dinner. “As I suspected, we’ll be fourteen at table.”

“Indeed, ma’am,” Forsythe said. “In the formal dining room, then.”

Mary hesitated, but then nodded. “Yes—it will be an excellent opportunity to open up that room.”

With a nod of dismissal, she turned back to Ryder, waiting patiently by her side. Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, she said, “It went well, don’t you think?”

Resuming their progress toward the library, he closed his hand, warm and strong, over hers. “Exceedingly well. An end on the one hand, a beginning on the other.”

“Exactly.” She wasn’t surprised he’d seen it as she had.

“So who is staying—you said fourteen?”

“Yes. Devil and Honoria took Helena and Lady Osbaldestone back to town, so it’s only my parents and brother and sisters and their spouses, and your half siblings.”

“Good.” When she glanced up and met his eyes, a question in hers, he explained, “We need to discuss arrangements for Stacie and Godfrey in particular, and I would value your parents’—and your siblings’—thoughts.”

Drawing her hand from his arm as he opened the library door, she grinned. “Don’t worry. You won’t even need to ask—they’ll offer their opinions regardless.”

From Ryder’s point of view, that would be another blessing for which to be grateful.

They joined the others on the sofas and chairs, and after a brief review of the day, Mary turned the conversation to the question of where Stacie and Godfrey would now reside. “You’re all welcome here at any time, of course, but what do you wish to do in London?”

Rand had his lodgings. “But sadly I have no extra rooms.”

Neither did Kit. “Moreover, I need to find a new place.”